


The Best Kind of Distraction

by leftennant



Series: Let's Make this Last Forever 'Verse [3]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Het, Romance, Shameless Smut, Smuff, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 20:50:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1483441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leftennant/pseuds/leftennant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor gets distracted by Rose and she isn't even in the room.  Sexy times follow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Kind of Distraction

**Author's Note:**

> This is meant to be the third story in Pajamas and Poison, but you don't necessarily have to read that one first. Not beta'd, so all mistakes are mine. I don't own DW...or pan galactic gargle blasters.

He’s sitting at the console charting stars when he first notices it. The pencil in his hand is chewed, eraser nearly gone, metal end bitten together violently…nothing odd about that. He chews pencils all the time. Except those aren’t his tooth marks, they’re _hers_. He can tell because the pattern is all wrong, shape of the palate slightly smaller, and tiny incisor indents cutting through nearly to the lead. 

Experimentally, he puts it in his own mouth to check the fit and then OH! Her essence explodes across his tongue. The flavor of Rose Tyler is all over the wood and paint, and he can feel a tight clench down low in his abdomen. It’s a nearly overwhelming reaction to the taste of the girl who shares his bed. 

When he thinks about _that_ the muscles clench again. Sex with Rose Tyler. He has _sex_ with _Rose Tyler_. Lots of it. His bed, her bed, various times and planets, and just lately, several times in this very console room. He can remember each time with the perfect clarity of his Time Lord brain. Sex with Rose is better than anything. It’s better than supernovas. Better than those rare days when nobody dies. It’s even better than that one time in his fifth regeneration on Erotica Six after he had those five Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters and…nevermind. He’d actually really rather not think of that, _thankyouverymuch_. He’s still got the hangover four hundred and fifty two years later. Much less painfully embarrassing just to think of Rose, and come to that, where is she anyway? 

The TARDIS could tell him, of course it could, or he could just use telepathy to find her. Quite useful in finding people, telepathy, and she’s got enough Bad Wolf left swirling in her system that he can find her almost anywhere if he concentrates hard enough. But he won’t. That would be cheating.

She’s not here and that means she must be busy…probably very busy. Maybe even too busy to stop and kiss him. But perhaps he could talk her into kissing him anyway. And then maybe after Rose has kissed him she might be open to letting him undress her, and then once she’s undressed…no. Once they are _both_ undressed, he amends. Yes, once they are both undressed she might not object to letting him do more than kissing. Rather _A LOT_ more than kissing. Or, actually, quite a bit of kissing that doesn’t exactly involve her mouth, per se. The kind of kiss-not-on-her-mouth that leads to her panting and gasping, and simultaneously pulling his hair while calling his name. 

He loves that kind of kissing, loves the taste and the feel and the noises she makes. And then maybe, maybe after she’s done pulling his hair, after he does some more actual kissing _on_ her mouth she would be willing to well…perhaps kiss him _NOT_ on the mouth. 

Although…it’s not exactly kissing…it’s more of a licking and a sucking. And that one thing she does which is neither a lick nor a suck…but something far better. Something quite a bit like both at the same time with a swirl at the end, and he wonders if maybe he should go find her after all. 

It wouldn’t hurt just to look a little bit. That’s what he’ll do. He’ll look for say, five minutes, and if he hasn’t found Rose in those five minutes he’ll know that she’s too busy. He won’t cheat with the TARDIS or telepathy, so if he finds her…no...when. _When_ he finds her, he will know he was meant to find her. 

Then they can discuss the benefits of all possible types of kissing while actually kissing. He pauses for a moment, seeing a flaw in that plan. Surely if they _are_ kissing, they won’t be discussing kissing. In between kisses, he decides. Oh yes, definitely in between kisses because during kisses his tongue is otherwise occupied. 

At the thought of his otherwise occupied tongue he walks a little faster, well…when he thinks walking faster he knows running would be closer to the truth. Just running a little bit, more like…a brisk jog. Nothing as needy as say, an all out proper sprint, no, surely he has more self control than _that_. Besides, he’s still got four minutes and thirty seconds left. That is plenty of time to find her. Except, well, it’s a very large TARDIS and she could be anywhere. 

A cursory inspection proves that she is not in her room, his room, the kitchen, or the infirmary. This leaves either the cloisters or the library…or the pool…or karaoke room…or maybe…well…ok fine, maybe running is ok. Maybe running is just what he needs in fact, bloody _massive_ TARDIS with so many places one small girl could be. If he didn’t run he might not find her at all, and then there would no kissing on mouths or otherwise. 

She isn’t in the gardens, the wardrobe room, the media room, or the bowling alley, and now he only has thirty seven seconds left and he’s racing the clock. It’s while he’s skating past the door of the library that he finally spots her. 

There she is. Lounging in his favorite chair, one leg dangling over a leather clad arm and the other propped up against it, curve of the arm under the instep of her foot. Her back is curled against the fold between the chair back and the wing, left hand holding a book, the right toying with the wire for her mp3 player. She’s singing along, not loudly, but loud enough that he can hear it and her head is bobbing a bit. Which makes him think of... Well, it’s quite a bit like some of the kissing-not-on-the-mouth actually. 

He’s mesmerized for a minute, just watching her head move and then, _then_ she does something that nearly shatters his less than intact composure entirely. Rose puts one finger up to her mouth, _licks_ it, and with a quick flick, turns the page of her book. He swallows convulsively, and replays that tiny movement several times in his head in rapid succession. 

She’s still oblivious. The leg not propped up is swinging a bit now in time to the music, cuff of her jeans stopping just above a hot pink canvas trainer. It’s similar to his own and yet completely different with its low top, vibrant color, and silver accents. He can see the long, button over tongue sparkling; the words All Star printed dead center in fuchsia lettering. They’re new, those trainers. He purchased them the last time they were Cardiff as gift for her because they were something like his, but utterly like her at the same time. Rose has worn them every day since and he smiles to think of it. 

The legs shift, move, switch places. He follows the angle of the leg now in the foreground up and over and down, right back to the hip and the concave line of her stomach mirroring the convex of her back. And then there are other curves to consider. The swell of her breasts under a t-shirt and blue hoodie hold his attention completely for some seconds. It’s the exact shade of the TARDIS. As he recalls, she hopped up and down in excitement when she found it and bought it on the spot. 

He loves that about her, all that excitement and bubbly enthusiasm. The way she put her hand in his and ran away without looking back. How she faces danger with complete trust in him to put it all right again, and the times where _she_ put it right herself. Rose puts him right all the time, and he’s not even sure she’s aware of it really. 

He remembers how she seduced him, or rather, how they seduced each other. The plan forming in his head the very moment he smelled her bring pears onto the TARDIS. Endless months of waiting, of denying himself, of coming up with reasons why he could not, should not, would not take her to bed suddenly dissolving when he walked into that kitchen and decided he could, should, and would. 

And then he’s thinking of _that_ again and how it felt. How it feels every time, her beneath him, or over him, or next to him as the case may be. These thoughts bring him right back to her mouth and kissing it, and then kissing other places, and how much he wants to do those things with Rose right now. He would eat every last vile pear on earth if it meant he could get his mouth on her again. And he realizes she’s seen him, is watching him. Probably has been watching him for a while and he was staring at her breasts nearly the entire time, and is currently grimacing over pears. 

“What’s with the face? You look daft.” Rose says, eyes laughing up at him, pink tongue poking out between her pearly teeth.

“Pears.” He hopes that is enough explanation, right now he can’t seem to think of a single word to add. It’s her own fault. Showing him her _tongue_ like that. She ought to know better.

“Pears, hm?” 

“Well, yes and no. Pears just then, but before that…before that…not pears.” He wonders if that sounded as senseless outside his head as it did inside.

“Ah, of course. And do I get to know what the before pears thoughts were?” She’s smiling wickedly, deliciously, making little air quotes around _before pears_. Rose knows him well enough to recognize this has little or nothing to do with pears. It’s possible pears entered into it somewhere, but that isn’t why he suddenly sought her out in the library in the middle of the day.

“Star charts,” he answers promptly, “and pencils.” 

Rose shuts her book, and sets it down on a nearby table. Then she swings her legs off the arm of the chair to set them flat on the floor in front of her, and stands up. She’s crossing the room now, prowling, he corrects. She’s _prowling_ towards him, a rather good sign, that. Prowling often leads to the sort of kissing he wants to do.

“I see the pencil.” She points at his hand and he realizes he is still holding the pencil, that he has in fact been carrying it all along. 

“Handy things pencils. I might want to write something down…or you might. It would be very useful if we did… want to write something down that is.” He stows the very useful pencil in his pocket though. He cannot think of a single thing he wants to write down at this moment, and he suspects she can’t either.

“Indeed. It certainly would be.”

She’s right in front of him now and he can’t help grinning, can’t stop himself because he knows she doesn’t buy his pencil story, and she’s got that _look_ on her face. The one that means things are about to get very, very, very good. And they do, almost immediately actually. 

Rose takes his glasses off, folds them and tucks them in the pocket with the pencil. Then she grabs his lapels, and he has a split second of anticipating the kiss before the kiss is there. Hot and riotous and exactly the way he imagined it would be. Truthfully though, it is infinitely better than he imagined. He thinks this as her tongue slides across his, as her hips grind against him, as he relinquishes the rest of his self control in one swift stroke. And it’s clear she is not at all too busy, never was too busy, was highly likely just waiting for him to come find her. 

It occurs to him that there are a lot of clothes in the equation. More clothes than he would like. Clothes must come off, and the sooner the better. He’s very single minded when he needs to be and right now he turns every ounce of that single-mindedness into getting them naked. His jacket and shirt, her hoodie...all discarded in short order. Trailing across the room behind them, scattered trainers, her t-shirt now, his trousers, their socks in a tangle shortly thereafter, and then with a triumphant smile he divests her of her jeans. They go flying and land on a nearby lamp which tumbles over. 

Neither one of them notice, they also don’t notice the books raining down on their heads as they crash against the bookcase until a particularly large tome lands a glancing blow on his shoulder. That’s when the Time Lord brain kicks back in, and he realizes there is a perfectly good desk less than .60960 meters away. A perfectly good desk, which for some reason, has never been used by them for making love, he’s going to remedy that _right_ now. Books, blotter, pens all flying with a careless swipe of his arm as he lifts her up and onto the smooth wooden surface. Rose is laughing, tongue peeking out again, and eyes shining at him. 

“A bit impatient, hm?” she asks.

“Well, I just thought perhaps it would be best to use a little expedience.” He surveys the scattered mess on the floor briefly, dismisses it, and turns back to her. “Now, where were we?”

“M’pretty sure you were just about to have your way with me on this desk, but I could be wrong.” Rose smirks, actually _smirks_ at him, and then she lazily lifts up one arm and crooks a finger in a come-hither motion that practically stops both his hearts. She doesn’t have to ask twice. He’s got his arms around her in a second, pulling her forward, pressing himself against her. One of her hands is on the back of his neck and the other is inching its way between them, finding him, stroking him. Playful fingers teasing his length the way her tongue is teasing his mouth. 

“Want you,” she whispers, trying to bring him inside.

“Not yet,” he murmurs into her neck, mind full of plans. 

He brushes his lips down her shoulder, across her collarbone, listening to her breathing quicken as he finds each breast. Rose plays with longish strands of hair on the top of his head, rumpling and ruffling them absently as she arches towards him. He holds her gaze, continuing to make his way down her body, tasting and nipping at her skin. Her eyes are still on his when he finally reaches his goal, and he brings both hands up, pushes her legs further apart and dips his tongue inside her. This, _this_ is exactly what he wanted, her body shuddering a little, bottom lip caught between her teeth, lashes fluttering shut for a second and then opening again wide. 

“Let me in?” he asks against her skin, not wanting to take more than she’s willing to give, but dying to know what she’s thinking, feeling right now.

“Curious?” she asks breathlessly, hips beginning to move rhythmically against him.

“Always.” He finds the spot that makes her squirm the hardest and flicks his tongue over it. “Please?”

“Well…since you asked…so nicely…” Rose gasps out, head thrown back, panting now. 

He slides right into her mind like he lives there, a perfect fit. And then he feels…he feels… Rassilon, he can feel _everything_. He runs his tongue across her clit and her response lights him up like the sun. He does it again and they both moan. 

He’d always worried about the chill of his skin on hers, but now he knows that his concerns were unfounded. Rose loves the feel of him, his temperature enhancing, heightening rather than detracting from her pleasure. His satisfaction with this new fact is cut short by a sudden, extremely vivid mental image from her involving his fingers and exactly where she wants them. 

He looks up and there she is, watching, waiting, wondering if he caught that. She doesn’t have to wait long. Taking one nimble finger, he runs it along her folds before slipping it inside, stroking firmly, imitating her come-hither motion from before. Rose whimpers a little, hips lifting and rocking against his hand, and he adds another finger before lowering his mouth onto her again. 

She’s holding herself up with one palm flat on the desk so she can tangle her fingers into his hair. With their minds still linked, he can feel the desk beneath her palm, and soft thick brush of his hair under her other hand, and the sensation of his tongue on her body building and building. She’s perilously close now and he knows exactly where to focus on to get her there the fastest. He concentrates on that spot, lapping and sucking until he pushes her right up and over like a rollercoaster cresting the first drop. The waves of her orgasm break over him, intense and powerful, and it triggers a rush in him like nothing else. He did this to her, this was all him, _his_ tongue, _his_ fingers. She’s all his, for as long as he can convince her to stay, and he has every intention of being as convincing as possible as often as she’ll let him be. 

He pulls himself up, and cradling her face in her hands, he kisses her gently, tenderly. For just a moment he drops his walls and lets her see the depth of feeling he has for her, the span and breadth of just how much she affects him. 

She sighs into his mouth and pulls him closer. “Love you. Love everything about you,” Rose whispers, lips tickling along his jaw, her hand sliding down his stomach wrap around him. 

He groans against her neck as she strokes him. It doesn’t take long until he’s thrusting into her hand, eyes flickering shut, breath sharp and staccato. She slides off the desk, drops to her knees in front of him, and takes him in her mouth. First using her tongue simply to get him wet, running it up and down his length and sucking lightly at the head. Then when she has it slick enough, she takes him in one easy movement. He can feel the brush of her hair against his thighs, and burning heat of her mouth so close around him. She’s moving a bit faster now, fingers sliding ahead of her lips down his shaft, and she has begun to do that very clever thing he remembered earlier in the console room. 

Matters are getting rapidly out of control. If he doesn’t stop her soon he won’t be able to stop, and he’s not sure if that wouldn’t be…well…rude. As much as rudeness seems to be a hallmark of this regeneration he doesn’t believe it would translate well to the bedroom…or the library…as the case may be. Regretfully, he reaches down to lift her away, and finds his wrist immediately caught and firmly held. She’s looking right at him defiantly, and it might just be the most wanton, sexy thing he has ever seen. With her eyes still fixed on his, she sends him a detailed image of what she wants, and his whole body jerks in response. 

“Jesus,” he says, replaying the image in his mind.

“Christian deities again?” Rose asks, and really, she’s quite talented to have managed words with what she’s doing.

“First ones that came to mind.”

She doesn’t reply, her concentration is fixed elsewhere, and he’s relieved because his ability to speak has fled. Two more strokes and he’s finished. It’s all he can do to hold still as she takes him, his body shuddering, and swallows him down. After a moment she releases him and gives the head of his cock a final, thorough lick before standing. 

“Good?” she asks, smiling up into his astounded eyes.

“Intensely so. Good doesn’t even cover it. In fact, I suspect there aren’t many words that adequately could. You _did_ just do that, yes? On _purpose_ too,” and his mouth quirks up into a cheeky grin. 

She grins right back at him. “Yeah, on purpose. I thought you might like it. How’s that binary vascular system?” Rose rests a palm against his chest, feeling the quadruple beat strong and steady under her hand, and he knows the question has absolutely nothing to do with his hearts. 

“You’re insatiable. Do you know just how much I love that about you?” He pulls her tight, flush with his hips and the benefits of that binary vascular system start kicking in immediately. 

“I have a pretty good idea. Now…desk? Floor?” She looks around the room trying to decide.

“Bed,” he says and scoops her up in his arms.

She snorts. “We’ll never make it. I know what you’re like.”

“Hallway then,” he counters, eyes hooded with lust.

“Perfectly good chair, right over there,” Rose nods her head towards the one she was sitting in earlier. 

He’s already walking over to it as she’s finishing her sentence. “Fine,” he agrees, and settles her astride his lap in the chair.

They both exhale as he pushes up inside her. He holds her hips to give her more leverage and balance, but she sets the rhythm. A slow grind down and then back up, nearly letting him go before coming down hard again. It’s a familiar pattern for both of them, the desperate want, agonizingly slow retraction, and fierce reclaiming of each other’s bodies. Rose has begun touching herself, getting off right in front of him and he’s practically shaking just watching her. Her back is curved like a bow, hair sweeping down past her waist, fingers rubbing and teasing as she fucks him. It’s a view that puts to shame every magnificent vista on every single planet he’s ever seen. He briefly imagines the increase in postcard sales if they had _this_ on them instead of the Alps or sunsets over the Eiffel tower. He’d certainly buy them.

They rock together slowly at first but faster and rougher as they get closer to completion. Moving underneath her now, he’s thrusting up as she comes down. She’s whispering something under her breath. He can barely make it out, but he knows what it is. A steady repetition of his name interspersed with various profanities, and punctuated with the word _yes_. He isn't even sure she’s aware of it, but it almost always proves to be the undoing of him. Hearing his name on her lips when he’s inside her has a way of holding him in the present and making him no more or less than _this_ man, the one Rose Tyler loves. 

He strengthens the connection between them, opening it up fully again, letting her feel both sides of their pleasure as she moves above him. The sudden flood of dual ecstasy is enough to finish her, and her eyes close, hips rock, body curves back against his hands as she comes. She is squeezing him, pulling him deeper, and he falters under her, loses control and his own orgasm breaks free inside him. It tears through him like a firestorm and he’s helpless to resist. Just riding crest after crest of pleasure as she cries out against his shoulder. 

She’s the first to move, plump lips press wetly against the skin of his neck and then her face pops back into his field of vision. Rose is gloriously spent, pink cheeks and pinker mouth, eyes dazed and sated. He wishes he had an entire album full of photographs of these moments. Post-sex with Rose Tyler, exhibits one through ten billion. Each one with a date, and time, and description of the act itself. 

“You’re quiet. Usually by now you’re in full on autowitter,” she says, tugging on his fringe.

“I was just thinking I wish I had pictures of this. Well, of you. You know, after the act, like now.”

She scrunches up her face, “What, pictures of me all starkers and sweaty?”

He rolls his eyes. “I happen to like you starkers and sweaty. You’re gorgeous. Besides, I caused the starkers and sweaty….that might be my favorite part, actually. The causing of it.”

“You’re a nutter.”

“You love it.” He helps her get up and starts retrieving their clothes.

“What brought you in here, anyway? I know it wasn’t pears,” she asks as she's shimmying back into her knickers.

“Oh.” He scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “Yeeeeeah, that. Well, you see…the thing is….my pencil tasted like you and…”

Rose bursts into laughter, holding her stomach and collapsing against the bookcase. He waits as she winds down, arms folded across his unbuttoned oxford.

“What?” he finally says, sounding a bit hurt, “You _know_ how that kind of thing affects me. I’ve got exponentially more tastebuds than you.”

“Mm,” she says, “I know. I wasn’t laughing at you…well, not exactly. I was laughing because it worked.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “What worked?”

“Nothing,” she replies airily, “Did I say something worked? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He glares for a moment and then blinks. Two blinks later and he’s got it. “Rose Tyler, did you _plant_ that pencil? You did, didn’t you? Why, you wanton little minx.”

“That’s me, wanton minx and time traveler extraordinaire.”

“You forgot space,” he scoffs.

“Space,” she says cheekily and tosses her hoodie at him. 

It lands on his head, obscuring his face. Just as fast he whips it off and stepsforward, straight into a runners crouch. “Rose?”

“Yeah?” she says, already eyeing the door and starting to turn towards it for a hasty escape.

“Run!”


End file.
